El Cumbanchero
by 4luv4evr428
Summary: Little Ricky goes with his father to a rehearsal at the club.


I.

It was a hot summer the year little Ricky turned five years old, but the heat was more bearable since the recent move to the countryside of Connecticut. The shade of the trees was a welcome change from the smoggy, thick air that sat amongst the tall skyscrapers and mass transit of the city.

Little Ricky sat at the kitchen table, eating cereal from a big bowl excitedly. Lucy looked over at him from the sink, where she was washing dishes left by her husband, who had eaten breakfast earlier and was in the shower. "Little Ricky, darling, don't eat so fast, you'll make yourself sick," she scolded gently. He was going into the city with his father today, to watch him rehearse while she and Ethel tended to some business for the Westport Historical Society.

Ever since learning to play the drums, and since that first performance he had at the club, nothing brought her son more joy than making music. Even as much as he loved running around and getting dirty with his new friend from next door, Bruce, there was nothing like the look in his eyes when he was drumming or singing, especially when he was doing so with his father.

Lucy knew now that her son was well on the path to becoming a performer like her husband. And there was no doubt he had inherited the talent. She was tremendously proud of him and had grown to accept the show business dreams she knew he was developing, but she still worried about her very young son's exposure to the night club environment.

As she watched little Ricky drop his spoon in the bowl with a clang and start to run off for the living room, she laughed softly and put her fears to rest. Ricky would protect him, she had no doubt of that.

Lucy followed her son out of the kitchen in time to see Ricky dressed and coming down the stairs. She leaned against a dining room table and watched him interacting with little Ricky, who ran to him and jumped up and down.

"Daddy! Are we going on the train now?" Little Ricky's eyes were as wide as saucers.

Ricky put a hand on his son's head, a gentle attempt to still him. "Yes, ol' man, we're leavin' right now…"

Lucy walked over to them, smiling. "Little Ricky, now you stay with Daddy and don't wander away from him! And be a good boy at the club, you know, Daddy's working…" She looked at Ricky. "Honey, please, keep a good eye on him."

Ricky rolled his eyes playfully. "Lucy, he'll be fine!" He looked down at his son. "Ready, Ricky?"

Little Ricky started jumping again as Ricky laughed. "Yes, Daddy!"

Lucy leaned over and kissed her fast-moving son, then stood to receive a sweet goodbye kiss from Ricky. "We'll see you for dinner, honey. C'mon, ol' man!"

She watched her Rickys walk out the door together and turned to prepare for her day.

II.

As Ricky and his son stepped off the train in New York, he grabbed the boy's hand before he could break into a run. Little Ricky had started to grow accustomed to the wide open spaces and relatively small number of people to bump into in Connecticut. All Ricky needed now was for the innocent little boy to become absorbed in a sea of people not five minutes off the train.

Beginning to notice the tall, bustling adults who towered above him, little Ricky gripped his father's hand and walked closely by his side. Once outside the station, he began to feel better as he recognized the streets that his bus used to travel to bring him back and forth from his old school. Still, he remembered his mother's words to him before they'd left, and he continued to grip his father's hand…even if he did test the limits of how far his arm could stretch as he looked in store windows and twisted his head to look up at the tall buildings around them.

As Club Babalu came into view, Ricky looked down at little Ricky and smiled. He felt great pride in his son and in his budding talent. He knew that someday, this club that he had started performing in as a poor immigrant and eventually became the owner of would be passed down to little Ricky. He had achieved the American dream, and everything he did from now on would be done so his wife and his son would never have to struggle the way he did when he got off the plane from Miami sixteen years earlier.

When they entered the club, Ricky released the boy from the clasp of his hand, knowing he was safe here.

Little Ricky skipped between the tables and ran freely around the dance floor as the gathering musicians watched him, smiling and chuckling. When Ricky walked up behind his son, the boys shouted their customary greetings, some in Spanish and some in English.

Marco was at his piano and pounded out a few jazzy notes as he called out to little Ricky. "Are you playin' with us today, pequeno?"

Little Ricky ran up to the side of the piano. "Maybe! Daddy says you have to get through rehearsal first, though!"

The musicians laughed as Ricky, who had been sorting through his sheet music, turned and rolled his eyes. "I can't say anythin' around this kid!" He laughed as Marco tousled the boy's hair. "C'mon, Ricky, come sit so we can get started. Then you can play."

Little Ricky jumped down from the bandstand and sat at a table in front of the stage. He was still except for his legs swinging from the chair under the table, but he knew he had to sit quietly for now. His father was very serious about his rehearsals.

Before long, little Ricky had stopped fidgeting altogether as he watched his father move around the stage and sing. He wanted to be able to sing like him and he wanted to be able to sing in Spanish. He was trying very hard to speak Spanish the way his father was teaching him. Learning was easier when Ricky made an effort to speak the language in daily conversation, and showed him how to read and write the words he was saying.

He watched the way Ricky conducted the orchestra and instructed them in how he wanted the music to sound. He looked at copies of the music that lay on the table in front of him, and he listened as his father occasionally called out which measure or beat they were on. Sometimes, Ricky would use words like "crescendo" or "staccato" and little Ricky saw where they were written on the music. He didn't exactly know what the words meant, but he noticed how the orchestra played differently when they appeared.

But what little Ricky loved most was when his father took out his big conga drum. He had the small drum that Uncle Alberto had given him when they visited Cuba, and he practiced on it often. But he was still learning to handle it the way his father did. The big drum was tall and heavy, but little Ricky saw his father as the strongest man in the world because he just strapped it around his shoulder and danced as though it wasn't even there.

When Ricky finished his finale number after a couple of hours of rehearsal, little Ricky hopped out of his chair and ran to him. Ricky picked him up into a hug. "What do you think, is it a good show?"

"Yes, Daddy! I like it! Can I play with you now?"

Ricky laughed. "You can as long as they boys aren't too tired or hungry! We've got a show tonight, we want them to rest, right?"

"Yeah…" Little Ricky nodded his understanding, and looked over at them longingly.

Ricky smirked when the boys protested unanimously, not a single one of them wanting to disappoint the little boy. He lowered his son to the floor, and he scurried off to the side of the stage where his little drum sat waiting for him. When he came back, he tugged at the leg of Ricky's slacks. "Play with me, Daddy!"

Ricky picked up his drum again and smiled broadly. "What do you want to play?"

"Teach me a new song!"

The orchestra laughed softly and Ricky knelt in front of his son, his fingers smoothing over the stretched goat skin that covered his old drum from the island. He thought for a moment. "Alright. How about 'El Cumbanchero'?"

Little Ricky touched the top of his drum the same way his father had. "El Cum-cumba…"

Ricky smiled and said the word again, slowly and clearly. "El Cum-ban-chero…"

"El Cum-ban-chero!" Little Ricky repeated the word as his father had said it. "El Cumbanchero!" He said it again, proudly, as he addressed the orchestra, who encouraged him. Marco played a few bars of the familiar song on his piano. "Eso es muy bueno, pequeno!"

Little Ricky turned back to his father. "What's el cumbanchero, Daddy?"

"It's a man who loves to have a lot of fun and play lots of music."

"Like you, Daddy?"

Ricky laughed. "Yes, you could say that."

Ricky went on to show his son how to play the song and he taught him the lyrics by singing one line at a time and having the boy repeat him. After a few tries, the Spanish lyrics came more easily to the child.

"Do you want to try it all the way through?" Ricky stood up.

"Yes, Daddy, I can do it!" Little Ricky was so eager to make his father proud, and it was all Ricky could do to contain himself.

"Yes, you can do it, Ricky." He turned to his orchestra and directed them as they started to play.

Ricky played with his son, but he grew more quiet when it became clear that the boy was very competent in performing it himself. Little Ricky sang almost flawlessly and he recalled the Spanish lyrics and pronounced them very well.

At the end of the song, Ricky and the boys in the orchestra applauded him. "Aw, son, that was very good!"

Little Ricky beamed, joy filling his little heart at the sight of how he had pleased his father.

Ricky glanced at his watch. "But we do have to go home now, your Mommy is waitin' for us."

"Ok, Daddy."

They said their goodbyes to the musicians and Ricky dismissed them until he would see them again that night.

Little Ricky again clutched his father's hand as they went out to the street and made their way back to the train station.

III.

"Well! My boys are home!" Lucy greeted her husband and son at the front door, the smell of dinner inviting them in.

Little Ricky ran to his mother's arms and she embraced him lovingly. "Hi, Mommy! Guess what! Daddy taught me a new song today! It's called 'El Cumbanchero' and it's about a man who likes to have fun and play music just like Daddy and me!"

Lucy's eyes widened at the frenzied pace in which her son related the day's events. "My goodness, honey, that's wonderful!" She stood up and hugged Ricky as their little boy ran to the kitchen. "What's for dinner, Mommy?"

Ricky and Lucy laughed as he held her close and kissed her. "What IS for dinner, Mommy?" Ricky teased.

"A roast and mashed potatoes."

"Mmmm…" Ricky kissed her again as little Ricky bounded back into the living room from the kitchen.

"Daddy, when can I play with you again?"

Ricky touched his wife's cheek as she slipped away from his embrace and started for the kitchen. He followed her, and little Ricky skipped behind them like a baby chick.

"Soon. There's a few weeks before you have to start school again, so you can come back before that."

Satisfied, little Ricky broke into a sprint ahead of his parents, back into the kitchen and ready for dinner.


End file.
